Radio Static
by BlackBandit111
Summary: Tag to Mystery Spot: Gabriel felt bad for doing this to Sam. Really. Slight Sabriel.


_**Hey guys! So I started Supernatural a week ago. There are 22 episodes per season, right? **_

_**I'm on S4. But anyways, my friend Kat ships Sabriel and was telling me a lot of in depth things about that episode, so I thought, hey, why not? Enjoy the read!**_

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Gabriel felt bad for doing this to Sam. Really. He didn't particularly have- what was the word?- feelings, like a normal being, but he wasn't as inept as some may have believed. Angels had feelings too, and so did tricksters and shifters and vampires in their own dysfunctional ways.

But he could understand what Sam felt to a certain...degree. Correction: he could _imagine_ what Sam was feeling to a certain degree, and understand the feeling he was conjuring, but...he couldn't fully comprehend it. Yeah; comprehend. That sounded about right.

But it was why he forced himself to have pancakes everyday even when he was sick of them, even when he knew that he could have something different and in the early days Sam wouldn't notice at all, why he followed Sam's slouched, slumped form when he entered and exited the diner every morning. It was because he could imagine.

Tricksters, after all, could imagine anything.

Was in fun in the beginning? Oh, yes. Beyond it. To watch and cause Dean Winchester, smart mouth and supernatural creature killer extraordinaire get his- what did he call it?- his 'just desserts', was empowering, enlightening; sent jolts of glee through his body. Because who could stop him in his own kingdom?

From the beginning he had felt a little...sore about the whole thing, because Sam Winchester was everything but jaded yet, still somehow not fully tainted by burly truth and harsh reality. "In the Heat of the Moment" was his apology. His irony of sorts.

But after finally getting over how to kill Dean (and how pleasing it was), he finally started to pay attention to Sam's reaction. That was, after all, the main point of the whole illusion. He knew about Dean's deal and Sam's determination and the whole she-bang, and if it got him a little fun and taught Sammy-boy a little lesson, then who was anyone to stop it?

But after he had stabbed Dean in an alley, perhaps the- what?- thirty second death, Sam didn't even try to run to his brother. He stood, swaying, eyes glassy and tears streaming, his face crumpling and hands trembling. All at once, he seemed like a small child.

And Gabriel may have been heartless but he wasn't cruel, snapping his fingers from where he observed in the shadows, mesmerized by Sam's reaction but not so thoughtless as to not respond. Sam's eyes flickered shut; Dean's body faded and Sam's shimmered as the trickster sent them back to their motel room.

Swallowing and wondering why there was such an odd little lump in his throat, Gabriel shook his head and the image of Sam's devastated hazel eyes from his mind. After all, wasn't Gabe just getting Sammy ready for the inevitable?

He was always sure to be the same person from the diner and a different one when watching Dean's death (or executing it, depending on his mood), providing him steady ways to look out for Sam and record his reception. He offered a small break the next day for Sam, making Dean go quickly and painlessly from a heart attack.

The closest he would get to a sorry.

He watched Sam through the stages of grief, almost relieved that they had finally struck. He was at first frustrated and angry, determined to get his older brother out of the fix he was in by doing all sorts of things to the 'Mystery Spot'- burning it, pulling it apart. Then came the disbelief that _no, there had to be a way out and he could save Dean he could and he just had to keep Dean out of trouble and explain-_

But every time Gabriel, without mercy, made Dean forget. He could see Sam dying a little inside and felt, for the first time in a long time, sparks of worry ignite in his chest; was Sam losing spirit?

The next time Gabriel saw Sam in the diner, he choked on his own pancakes (tasteless and rubbery, now, he'd had them so many times). Sam looked dead. Sam looked _dead_. There was no other word for it.

Gabriel sat, paralyzed, lips parting when he tracked the one, lone tear sliding off Sam's nose, following it down his chin, and saw as it plopped onto the table, shattering into a million pieces.

Shattering like Sam.

And that's when he felt sick inside, a sudden burst of feeling that he hadn't felt ever in his whole existence, a fire of shame exploding in his gut. Guilt pooled too quickly in his stomach and an uncomfortable heaviness settled in his chest, and _why did he feel so much for the Winchester boy?_

Fingers scrabbling against the tabletop, trying to find something to grab, something to ground him because this was too strange for his liking at all, he licked his lips and blinked, his maple syrup on his pancakes- what he had every single day- changing to strawberry.

Heard Sam's quiet gasp as he spotted the difference on the way out of the diner.

Withheld his small smile because he wasn't doing it at all for the Winchester brat, he was just tired of the game.

Tired of the game. Definitely.

Noted the bag that Sam carried into the diner the next day, his jaw set and his bright hazel eyes hard. This, above all else, was what made Gabriel uneasy. He had learned that a cold Sam was a drastic Sam, and he knew that Sam knew about his bit of fun for the last Tuesdays.

It wouldn't be a fun Tuesday today for him. He knew this.

Headed out from the diner early to hopefully get a head start on Sam (because the the poor boy was obviously discouraged and ready to resign, he knew he couldn't go far) and wasn't surprised when he heard the patter of feet on asphalt, running towards him with outstanding speed.

He could have reacted to this, had plenty of time to do something to help himself, but he didn't. He allowed Sam to toss him around and throw him against walls and. and cars and slam him into things. He even played the innocent bystander card and was faintly proud of Sam when he wasn't fazed at all.

His doing. _Not_ Dean's.

The spike, he admitted, did hurt quite a bit, but not so much as Sam's expression did. It was both triumphant and exhilarated, but there was something churning deeper, under these things. Was it exhaustion?

Relinquishing his hold on reality for now, Gabriel let the brothers go.

And he watched again from the shadows that Wednesday morning as Sam cradled a lifeless Dean in his arms, rocking slightly, screwing his eyes shut for a few moments and opening them to find the same scene.

Watched as Sam fell apart, little diamonds falling from his speckled eyes and landing on Dean's freckled face.

Gabriel didn't think he'd felt any dirtier than he did in that one moment alone, because Sam had become strong and good at locking his emotions away, aside for those three times out of a hundred that he had shed tears; only three out of countless Tuesdays of heartbreak.

"Back in Time" was his apology that morning. And his hint.

He kept tabs on Sam for those six months, worry churning inside him as he observed Sam become something cruel, malicious. Vengeful.

Deadly.

And Gabriel, the King of Conjuring, knew what to do.

Posing as Bobby had been easy enough; even easier to replicate the 'summoning ritual'. Saw Sam hesitate, tears filling his once seething hazel eyes, fright beginning to creep up on him. And Gabe approached the situation the only way he knew how; through indifference and mocking.

And although he may have pretended to be reluctant to send Sam back, the look on Sam's once again sweet face made it worthwhile.

His apology to Sam that morning was a song that meant absolutely nothing at all.

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**_Thank you for reading and please leave me a comment on your thoughts!_**


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